


Albion

by Synekdokee



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Case Fic, Daddy Kink, Human AU, M/M, Murder, Smut, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-06
Updated: 2019-01-06
Packaged: 2019-10-05 17:29:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17329352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Synekdokee/pseuds/Synekdokee
Summary: “You’re pretty cheery for a kid who just witnessed a triple homicide.””Yeah, well. They kinda had it coming, what with they were mixed up, don’t you think,” Connor says, sliding his shoulders off the sofa and peering at Hank upside down, his cowlick flopping towards the carpeted floor.





	Albion

”Lieutenant, there’s someone in here!”

Hank unholsters his gun and runs into the office where Chris has his own weapon drawn and is pointing it at a desk. Hank nods to him and moves slowly towards it, going around.

”Come out, slowly,” he says, voice calm. Non-threatening.

He steps closer and points his gun under the desk, and hesitates when he sees the man - the _kid_ \- hiding under.

”Don’t shoot!” The kid says, slowly crawling out on all fours.

Hank puts his gun down and waves at Chris to stand down.

”Who the fuck are you and why are you here?” He growls, and the kid blinks up at him, brown eyes wide.

”My name’s Connor, I work for Mr Smith. I saw the killer.”

 

Fucking babysitter duty, Hank thinks darkly to himself as he unlocks the door to the safe house and dumps his bag on the floor.

Connor follows him and continues deeper into the apartment, finding the bedroom and claiming a bed for himself.

”This is nice than my place,” Connor grins, throwing himself on the sofa, all gangly limbs and carefree attitude.

”Your place must be a dump,” Hank drawls. “You’re pretty cheery for a kid who just witnessed a triple homicide.”

”Yeah, well. They kinda had it coming, what with they were mixed up, don’t you think,” Connor says, sliding his shoulders off the sofa and peering at Hank upside down, his cowlick flopping towards the carpeted floor.

Hank shakes his head, sitting down in a worn armchair with his book.

”How long are we stuck here?” Connor asks, reaching over his head to drag his fingers along the carpet. His shirt slides up his ribs, revealing the swell of his pelvic bones under pale skin.

”Until we catch the man who killed your employer,” Hank grunts, turning a page. ”Now shut up, I’m trying to read.”

Connor doesn’t shut up. He swings himself up and sits up, shimmying on the sofa until he’s at the end closest to Hank.

”I get the feeling you don’t like me,” he says facetiously.

Hank puts his book down slowly, glaring at the kid.

”I don’t like being cooped up for god knows how long in a molding hell-hole behind God’s back.”

”Fair enough,” Connor shrugs, leaning his chin on the arm of the sofa.

”And you’re annoying,” Hank mutters, picking his book back up. From the corner of his eye he sees Connor smirk.

 

”I’m bored,” Connor says, not half an hour later.

”So read,” Hank snaps, temper fraying. Every breath Connor makes seems to grate on his nerves, and it doesn’t help that he’s constantly aware of Connor and his…

Everything. His stupid face (which the kid is clearly aware of how attractive it is), and his stupid body, lithe and tempting. Hank wonders if Mr Smith had been using more than Connor’s skills at accounting. He’d seemed like the type.

Connor stands up, stretching luxuriously, and Hank’s eyes flicked to the strip of skin on his soft belly exposed by his shirt riding up.

Connor catches his eye and smiles slyly, and Hank feels heat burn his cheeks.

”I can think of something else to kill time with,” Connor says, voice pitched low.

Hank jumps when Connor leans over him, putting his hands on Hank’s shoulders.

”Hey-” he yelps, and then Connor is climbing into his lap, graceful and so, so tempting.

Hank jolts to his feet, sending Connor tumbling onto the floor.

”Was that really necessary,” Connor complains, glaring at him from the floor, propped up on his elbow with his legs spread wide.

No one should have the right to look that attractive while indignant.

”Unless you’re prefer me on my back?”

”Jesus fuck,” Hank growls and makes a beeline for the bathroom. He shuts himself in and splashes cold water on his face, and then stares at himself in the mirror.

The fuck is the kid playing at?

 

Connor leaves him alone after that, retreating into the bedroom to do god knows what. Hank tries not to think about it too much.

At bedtime he creeps into the bedroom, hoping Connor’s asleep.

No such luck. Connor is on his bed, reading on his stomach in the weak light of the bedside lamp, wearing nothing but-

“Is that lace?” Hank chokes out, feeling a little light-headed. He can’t seem to be able to look away from the dip of Connor’s back and the swell of his ass, covered in _black fucking panties_.

Connor looks at him over the slope of one pale, freckled shoulder, lashes fluttering.

“Do you like them?”

Hank grunts and strips out of his jeans and shirt quickly, leaving on his boxers and undershirt. Connor doesn’t even bother pretending he’s not staring openly. Hank sees his eyes track down, and he turns away, knowing full well what the kid can see.

“My, Lieutenant,” Connor purrs, and Hank hears him shift on the bed. “A man with _something_ to hide and nothing to feel insecure about.”

Hank can _hear_ the leer in his voice.

“Does this count as workplace harassment?” he mutters, folding his clothes and diving under the covers.

The musty bedding is coarse against his skin, but this isn’t his first night spent in a safe-house. He sighs, rolling onto his side, back to Connor.

There’s an ominous creaking noise, and then the sound of wood cracking, and suddenly the bed gives out with a yell from Hank.

Connor scrambles up, reaching for the light switch. They both wince at the sudden glare, and then Connor’s at his side, helping him out of the mess of cheap wood and bedding.

He puts his hands on Hank a little more generously than is called for, and Hank jerks away the moment he’s out of the debris, pushing himself to his feet and stumbling towards the door, dragging his duvet with him.

“Where are you going?” Connor asks, following him.

“I’m sleeping in the living room!” Hank barks, throwing himself on the couch.

Connor watches him, leaning against the door jamb. Miles of milky skin and wiry muscle. And those fucking lace hipster panties.

Hank groans and pulls the covers over his head.

“We could share,” Connor calls, and Hank pokes his hand out to give him the finger.

Connor laughs, and then Hank hears him pad back into the bedroom.

Fucking brat.

 

He wakes up to someone stroking his fair.

His hand shoots out to grab Connor’s wrist in a vice, eliciting a hiss of pain from the kid.

Hank cracks open one eye to glare at him.

“Anyone ever talk to you about boundaries?”

Connor yanks his hand free, perching on the couch by Hank’s head like a prim little thing. His pale, naked thighs are inches from Hank’s face.

“Boundaries are for pussies,” Connor sniffs and stands up, and Hank watches that perfect, round ass move towards the bathroom.

He sighs, rolling onto his back. His dick is half-hard, and it’s not helped by the sound of the shower starting, his mind filled with images of Connor, naked and wet, water sluicing over his pink lips and pink nipples and pink god-knows-what-else.

Hank drags a pillow over his head, wondering if it’s possible to commit suicide by smothering.

 

Reed arrives at noon to relieve him so he can go to the precinct and check up on the investigation. They barely exchange pleasantries, Reed looking about as ragged as Hank feels, probably having spent the night partying, or whatever the fuck Reed does when he’s not being a thorn in Hank’s side.

 

Hank feels relieved to be out of Connor’s orbit for a while. If he has to listen to one more innuendo or double-entendre, or deal with any more of Connor’s casual touches on his arms and shoulders, he’s going to blow up.

 

It’s clear the team is offended by his inability to not micromanage, but Hank pulls rank and demands all the reports and updates.

“Not much new yet,” detective Doherty tells him, handing him a file. “But something turned up during the autopsies. I was just about to call you about it,” she shrugs when he shoots her a sharp look.

Interesting to say the least. Blue plastic triangles had been shoved down each of the three victim’s throats. No prints on them either, and it doesn’t match any serial killer profile on record.

Hank snaps a shot on his phone of the pictures. Connor wouldn’t have seen the killer insert the objects, not where he was hiding behind the desk, but maybe he’ll be able to tell what they’re supposed to signify.

 

Hank loiters at work, riding everyone’s asses and demanding quicker results until he nearly gets into a fist-fight with a lab-tech. Finally Fowler kicks him out, and after a greasy lunch he has no choice but to return to Connor.

(During a moment of weakness he gets an extra burger and fries to go. Kid’s too damn skinny anyway.)

 

Reed is out of the door before Hank has his car in park. One look at his flushed face and hands jammed deep into his pockets, stretching his jeans tells Hank all he needs to know.

“Jesus Christ, Gavin,” he groans. “Tell me you kept it in your pants.”

Reed throws him a glare over his shoulder, yanking his car door open.

“Fuck you, you could’ve warned me! I’m not babysitting that- that-” he jabs his finger towards the apartment door, his blush deepening, and then, without finishing his sentence, gets in the car and guns it out of the lot like a bat out of hell.

 

“Hello,” Connor greets him, sitting on the sofa and channel-surfing. Wearing an actual satin robe. It’s midnight blue and only accentuates how pale his skin is. Hank swallows down a groan, rubbing his hand across his face.

Connor has one leg tucked under him, the other stretched out on the sofa, long and slender. Hank would like to rut himself against it.

“Please tell me you didn’t fuck Reed,” Hank says, feeling vaguely nauseous.

Connor pulls a face, not looking away from the tv.

“Please. I have some standards,” he says coolly, and Hank tries not to think about why relief suddenly floods him.

“That’s not what you’ve shown me,” he mutters, and Connor gives him a look, one eyebrow arched. He opens his mouth, and Hank puts his hand up.

“Enough. You seen these before?” He says, tone firm, and Connor gives him a baleful look before glancing at his phone.

“Huh. No, no I haven’t,” he says slowly. “What are they?”

Hank hesitates, wondering how much to share. Connor acts unfazed by what he’s been through, but how much of it is a facade?

“We found them at the murder scene. Did you hear the killer move around after he fired the shots?”

Connor frowns. “I don’t- It happened pretty fast, and the sounds-” he shivers, curling up tighter on the couch.

“It’s alright,” Hank says gently, moving to sit down next to him. “You don’t have to act brave here.”

Connor turns to look at him, and for the first time there’s something honest on his face - the seductive front gone, leaving behind wide, scared eyes, so guileless.

“The shots were so loud,” Connor says softly. Hank can see his adam’s apple bob as he swallows. His slender fingers play with the edge of his robe, and one sleeve slips down, revealing the perfect curve of his shoulder. Hank looks away, but everywhere his gaze falls seems to be filled with Connor.

“I know you hate me, but I’ve been doing my best to remember everything.”

Connor, so young and vulnerable and scared.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Hank says gruffly, guilt weighing in his stomach. “It’s fine, kid, you’re doing real good,” he says. “And I don’t hate you, you’re just-”

Connor looks at him, something wounded in his eyes.

“You really don’t want me?” He asks, and Hank inhales sharply.

“That’s-” he stutters, scooching away a little. “It’d be unprofessional, maybe even unethical of me to take advantage-”

“It’s hardly taking advantage if I’m throwing myself at you,” Connor says, irritation now colouring his voice. “And we haven’t been stuck here long enough for this to count as Stockholm syndrome.”

Hank leans back against the arm rest, feeling trapped. “I’m twice your age, kid,” he says weakly. “I don’t think you realise how old I am.”

Connor moves, getting on his hands and knees and crawling - _prowling_ towards Hank, like some fucking satin-clad sex-kitten.

“Connor-” Hank warns, but then Connor’s hands are on his thighs, trailing up, up, over his belly, to his chest, and Connor’s leaning close and-

Connor’s lips are warm and soft, so damn soft, and his tongue is pressing against Hank’s lips and there’s only so long Hank can pretend to be a good man.

He growls, wrapping his arms around Connor and dragging him down into his lap.

Connor lets out a squeak, and then he’s kissing Hank with abandon, tongue licking into Hank’s mouth and pressing himself against Hank’s front.

“Jesus, kid,” Hank gasps when they part for air, and Connor shoves the robe down and shakes it off his arms, letting it pool on the floor by the couch. He straddles Hank, grinding their hips together, and all Hank can do is hold on to his hips and drink in the sight of him, naked and writhing in his lap.

“Can’t believe you held out this long,” Connor pants, and Hank has the sudden realisation that he may have gotten played.

“You-” he says, and Connor stops, staring at him with flushed cheeks. Then his mouth curls into a slow, coy smile.

“Hey, not my fault you’re a sucker for a damsel in distress,” he says, voice playful.

“I’ll show you distress,” Hank growls, and with one smooth move he hauls them both over until he has Connor bent over his lap, Connor’s wrists held tightly in one hand and the other on the small of his back, pinning him down over Hank’s thighs.

“H-hold on,” Connor stammers, trying to struggle up but lacking the purchase to do it. “I was just joking, Lieutenant-”

Hank smacks his ass, and Connor’s whole body jumps.

Hank waits, hand on Connor’s boxer-clad buttock.

And waits.

And then Connor moves, almost like it could be an accident - his hips jerking forwards, brushing his erection against Hank’s thigh.

A growl wells from Hank’s chest, and Connor lets out a soft, breathy moan.

Hank swats him again, a little harder this time, and then a second time. The sound Connor makes goes straight to his cock, already half-hard between his legs.

Hank feels oddly out of place, like he’s not fully in control of his body. He grabs the waistband of Connor’s boxers and yanks them down, exposing the ripe curve of his ass.

“Christ, how are you real?” He murmurs, and Connor lets out a huff.

“C’mon,” he whines, rocking his hips again until Hank grabs his ass hard enough to still him.

“Is that how you ask nicely?” He rumbles, and Connor moans again, tugging his wrists.

“Please… ah,” he falters, head dipping down in embarrassment.

“Go on,” Hank commands.

“Please, s-spank me.”

“Please, spank me, what?” Hank says, voice mocking.

Connor quivers in his lap, like he’s physically holding back, and then he blurts out-

“Please, spank me, _daddy_!”

Hank freezes, staring at Connor’s neck and the heated flush spreading down to stain his slender shoulders.

“I was going for ’sir’,” he says weakly.

Connor’s quiet for a moment, and then squirms.

“Daddy,” he whines, and Hank-

God, it's the most fucked up thing, but his cock twitches, arousal pooling in the pit of his belly.

His pulse is hammering in his chest and he’s panting shallowly. He feels dazed, out of control. This isn't him, he’s never-

He grips Connor’s ass again, fingers digging into the supple flesh there. He draws in a deep breath.

“You gonna be a good boy?” He says, voice so deep and gravelly he barely recognises it.

Connor keens, nodding frantically.

“I can’t hear you,” Hank says warningly.

“Yes, daddy!” Connor cries out, and Hank lifts his hand and brings it down hard, the smack ringing in the quiet room.

He lets go of Connor’s wrists and Connor braces himself against the floor, shifting forwards a few inches until his prick is pressed against Hank’s thigh.

Hank doesn’t stop to wait for more pleads, just brings his hand down on Connor’s ass in a series of sharp swats that must sting something fierce.

“Yes, harder, please!” Connor begs, and Hank has to take a moment to worm his hand between them. Connor arches his back obediently so Hank can reach his own fly, undoing his jeans so his raging hard cock has some relief.

“Count,” he barks, and swings his arm, harder than before, and his cock throbs at the sight of the red palm print left on Connor’s pale ass-cheek.

“One!” Connor shouts, hips rocking against Hank’s leg.

“Two! Three!”

Hank’s hand is starting to sting, and he can hear the tears in Connor’s voice.

“Two more,” he says, feeling breathless and so hard he thinks he could come like this, Connor sobbing in his lap and his cock digging into Connor’s soft belly.

He puts all the force he can in this position into the final two swats, and Connor nearly topples over his lap, if not for the arm Hank has across his shoulders.

“Five,” Connor sobs, voice thick with tears. “Please, daddy,” he begs, and Hank has to close his eyes for a moment.

He pulls Connor up and into his lap, and Connor clings to him, rutting his hips against the swell of Hank’s belly, his ass dragging over Hank’s erection.

“Please, please,” Connor cries, jerking when Hank rubs a hand across his heated ass, palming at him greedily.

“Hold on,” Hank mutters, laying Connor on his back on the sofa. He leans over to kiss Connor’s tear streaked cheek, and then brushes his thumb across his jaw.

“Be a good boy, daddy will be right back.”

Connor whines when he disappears into the bathroom, digging frantically around his toiletries for a spare condom and a packet of lube.

He pauses when he sees his reflection in the mirror, eyes dark with lust and face flushed and sweaty.

“What the fuck are you doing?” He asks his reflection, gripping the counter. “This isn’t like you.”

The other him has no answer, and eventually he hears Connor moaning his name, and the last of his resolve cracks.

 

On the sofa Connor has pushed his boxers off, and he has his thighs spread and his hand between his legs. Hank can’t see what he’s doing, but he can well imagine.

“Told you to be good,” he growls, and Connor pulls his hand away like he’s been caught at the cookie jar.

“Am I gonna have to punish you again?”

“No daddy,” Connor says softly, licking his plump, pink lips.

“Better not,” Hank mutters. He shoves his jeans and boxers down mid-thigh, fumbling the condom open and rolling it over his girth.

Connor watches, mouth parted, and Hank’s not above admitting it strokes his ego to see the slightly intimidated look on the kid’s face.

“Let me,” Connor demands when Hank starts to tear open the lube packet. “I want to feel you.”

Connor squeezes the lube onto his palm and then wraps his hand around Hank’s cock.

“Holy fuck,” Connor breathes, moving his fingers and trying to get them to circle fully around Hank’s shaft.

“Bit off more than you can chew, huh?” Hank says smugly, and Connor shoots him a dirty look.

“I can take it,” he says stubbornly, and Hank really shouldn’t find it hot.

“I didn’t ask for attitude,” Hank says sharply, smacking Connor’s hip, and Connor has the decency to look contrite.

“I’m sorry, daddy,” he says, and as though to make up for it he lets go of Hank’s cock and slides his fingers straight to his pink pucker and pushes two in.

“Fuck me,” Hank breathes, watching Connor slowly fuck himself open.

Hank’s never been good at watching from the sidelines. Connor pushes in a third finger, and Hank nudges the tip of his index finger against Connor’s stretched rim.

“Oh!” Connor cries out, pushing himself up on his elbow to try to see, his red mouth open.

“Don’t wanna hurt you,” Hank says quietly, thrusting his finger against Connor’s knuckles.

“God, enough, enough!” Connor shouts, pulling his fingers out and dragging his hand down Hank’s belly, searching.

“Shh, it’s okay, let me,” Hank croons, taking Connor’s hand in his as he takes his cock in hand. “Let daddy make you feel good.”

Connor sobs and tries to spread his legs even wider against the couch, his flushed cock resting against his flat stomach.

Hank fumbles the first attempt, his hand shaky, and the tip of his cock rubs along Connor’s perineum and nudges at his balls.

“Daddy!” Connor yelps, and Hank hushes him, moving back until the tip of his cock is pressed against Connor’s twitching hole.

“Here we go,” he says under his breath, and then pushes forward until he feels the head pop in and Connor _screams_ , arching his back off the couch.

“Yes, yes! Daddy, please, fuck me!” Connor wails, and Hank has to squeeze the base of his cock to stop himself from coming on the spot.

He grits his teeth and sinks in slowly, Connor groaning underneath him until he bottoms out, balls pressed against Connor’s ass.

“Fuck, Connor,” Hank pants, and Connor stills, staring at him with his huge eyes hazy with lust.

Hank surges down to kiss him, sliding his tongue inside Connor’s mouth as he pulls his hips back and slams in again.

Connor throws his arms around his neck, clinging as Hank fucks him, his hands sliding on the cheap polyester of Hank’s shirt, already damp with sweat. Hank slams his hips down, driving sweet little whimpers from Connor.

“Harder, please, daddy,” Connor mewls against his throat, and Hank’s cock throbs, something feral rising in him.

“Fucking brat,” he growls, grabbing Connor’s thighs and hooking them over his shoulders. He leans forward, bending Connor nearly in two, and begins a brutal pace, rutting down into Connor with all of his strength.

He watches, lust addled, as Connor’s face goes a little stupid when Hank’s cock hits what must be his prostate and keeps rubbing over it.

“I’m, I’m gonna-” Connor whines, and Hank grips his cock firmly.

“Not yet, I didn’t fucking say you could,” he barks, and Connor _quivers_.

Hank keeps fucking him, chasing his own orgasm, slowly building in the base of his spine with every drag of Connor’s tight ass around his girth.

Connor shifts, one trembling hand sliding between them, past Hank’s fingers circling the root of Connor’s cock to keep him in check, down-

“Fuck!” Hank shouts when he feels Connor’s fingers around his dick, pressed along where Connor’s slick hole is stretched taut around him.

“You’re so big,” Connor moans, and Hank can hazily feel him tracing his own rim, can feel Connor’s fingers with every thrust.

“You little-” Hank growls, and then clenches his teeth together because Connor is pressing his finger in alongside Hank, and Hank can feel him stretched to the limit, impossibly tight and it’s still not enough for Connor, the slut that he is.

“Daddy,” Connor whines, and it’s one surge of lust too much.

Hank comes with a roar, grinding his hips into Connor’s ass and pinning him down as he empties himself into the rubber. A detached part of him thinks of what a shame it is he couldn’t come right inside Connor, see him dripping with his come, and the thought only makes his pulsing cock jerk.

“Fucking hell,” Hank groans eventually, breathless, leaning back and letting Connor’s legs down gently.

Connor looks like a fucked-out mess. His hair is an disarray, his skin flushed a pretty shade of pink, a sheen of sweat making him glisten in the low lamplight. Hank pulls out and Connor’s hole clings to him, and then gapes open a little when Hank pulls free.

“Oops,” Hank murmurs, touching the puffy rim with his finger.

“Daddy,” Connor pouts, his lips swollen and bitten red. His cock is still curved against his belly, leaking precome, and Connor gives him the most pathetic look with his lovely brown eyes.

“Alright, I guess you’ve been good, boy,” Hank rumbles and then ducks his head down and sucks Connor into his mouth. Connor lets out a hoarse shout, his fingers digging into Hank’s hair. Hank’s barely made it halfway down the shaft before his mouth is flooded with come, Connor sobbing and writhing above him.

Hank strokes Connor’s flank through it, and then he pulls back, letting Connor’s softening cock slip out of his mouth. He leans over the sofa and grabs the satin robe, spitting into it.

“Hey!” Connor cries out, still a little breathless.

“I’m not swallowing,” Hank grunts, wiping his mouth. Connor props himself on his elbows, setting one naked foot on Hank’s jean-clad thigh.

“Could’ve given it to me instead,” he says, raising his eyebrows, and Hank’s glad that he’s as flushed as he is so Connor doesn’t need to see an old man blush.

“This was a colossal mistake, I hope you realise it,” Hank says, leaning back against the opposite arm rest. He eyes Connor, who looks completely at ease with his legs spread and the whole of his lithe body on obscene display.

“You’re gorgeous,” Hank admits, voice soft, and Connor’s mouth quirks into a smile.

“Wanna share the bed tonight?” Connor asks, sitting up and leaning into kiss Hank, oddly chaste, on the lips.

“Mm, sure. Couch is too short for me anyway.”

“I think my legs are dead,” Connor complains, bending them. Hank sees a slight tremor in his knees, and he barks out a laugh, feeling a little cocky.

“Teaches you to respect your elders,” he smirks, and then stands up and leans down to scoop Connor up, urging him to wrap his weak legs around Hank’s hips.

“I’ll try not to drop you,” Hank murmurs, and Connor only hums, nuzzling his beard happily.

Hank makes it to the bedroom, barely, without his back giving out, and he sets Connor down on the bed gently. Connor pulls him on top of him, wrapping his limbs around Hank like Hank is an avant garde heating blanket. He tugs the covers haphazardly over them and settles a little more comfortably against Connor, Connor’s face tucked into the crook of his neck.

“Good?” Hank asks, and Connor makes an agreeing sound, pressing tightly against him.

Hank can’t resist touching him a little more, such a beautiful slip of a boy, and he pets Connor’s arm and flank in gentle, soothing motions until Connor falls asleep.

 

When Hank wakes up, it’s still dark. His phone is ringing, and he can hear Connor rummaging around somewhere in the kitchen.

“What?” He growls into the phone.

“ _Lieutenant, it’s detective Doherty_ -” comes a frantic voice over the dodgy connection. “ _Is Connor with you?_ ”

“Yeah,” Hank replies, sitting up at the urgency in her tone. An engine revs somewhere in the parking lot. “What is it?”

“ _It’s Connor! Someone came forth, they had their car parked in front of the scene and their dash camera was recording the whole- it doesn’t matter, we looked at the footage and only one person exited the building and_ it was Connor _! We don’t know how he made it back-_ ”

Hank hears a door slam shut, and he throws his phone down and runs out of the bedroom.

“Connor?!”

There’s no answer. Hank grabs his keys and runs outside, just in time to see Connor wave at him from the passenger window of a car, grinning cheerily. There are no plates, and when the car turns Hank swears he can see-

Connor, driving the car.

It doesn’t make sense.

He runs to his own car, and then stops dead in his tracks.

Every tyre has been punctured. He slams his hand on the roof.

“Goddamnit!”

 

One week later he gets an email from an encrypted address.

“ _No hard feelings. Told you you had a thing for damsels in distress. Don’t worry, Lieutenant. You and I both know they were very bad men._

 _My brother says hello. He wishes he could’ve met you. Maybe some day?_ ”

Below the message is a picture of Connor, smiling in the sun like any care-free 20-something-year-old should. He has his arm thrown around the shoulders of his brother - what must be his twin, like a carbon copy aside from the stony look on his face and the cold, pale eyes.

“ _Miss you lots, daddy._

 _\- Connor._ ”

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on:  
> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/SynTurtle)  
> [Tumblr.](http://roomfullofcunts.tumblr.com/)  
> 


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